Where The Heart Is
by CuteCat213
Summary: Soul couldn't believe how close he'd been to losing her, how narrow the margin was by which she was still breathing. But he wasn't going to question it, he was too thankful to question, to even notice his tears. None of it mattered because *she was still here, alive* and that was all that mattered, not him, and not his wounds for making sure of it. (Rated for language. SoMa.)


**Wrote this to Jet Pack Blues by Fallout Boy, which I suggest listening to if you want to add that much more emotion to the potent feels already within.**

**Um... Sorta AU-ish. Wes is dead. Don't ask about where they are exactly or the distances involved- it's a One Shot: 'tis not the time for continuity or logistics questions. That said: enjoy.**

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Soul ran his fingers over the smooth, cold stone of the mausoleum, leaning his head against the heat-stealing chill of the dark stone in front of him.

"Wes, I fucked up again. Did stupid shit, almost got Maka killed... again. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I always push and push and fucking _push_?" It flashed through his mind over and over again like some twisted instant replay: that lethal strike aimed directly at his partner's tender heart. And all Soul had been able to hear was the sound of his blood pounding in his head and her screaming his name that tore through his soul like that same strike had torn through his flesh in her place.

His hand trembled against the stone, the sound of the rain cascading over the place and his hitched breaths the only break in the oppressing silence of death. And knowing Maka, she'd take this whole incident on her own shoulders when it was entirely his fault. His shoulders jerked on a cut-off sob as the scene ran itself through his mind's eye again. _So close to losing everything._ _You'd think a guy would learn._

His chest ached with the cold, he should still be in bed. But dammit, he couldn't take Maka waiting by his bedside again- _still_. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to be away from her; he just wanted to stay in bed and bask in the knowledge that she was there and breathing and warm and alive and _not_ dead because he was a fucking moron. He didn't want to be alone, but he couldn't let her see him like this. Because _fuck_ that had been way too close, and he had so nearly lost her. Lost the light that complimented the darkness inside him so well and never let him get lost in it. The one who didn't ask him to change, that accepted him as he was, dark and jagged- but not broken and in need of fixing like everyone else ever had always thought.

_Almost_. His fingers tightened and his breathing hitched again. So close to losing her. Cold, still, _dead_, like Wes. Soul hit his head off the front of the slab that marked his brother's resting place, his cheeks cold with the tears he hadn't even realized he'd lost the fight against. Didn't matter, because Maka wasn't here to see him completely break down over almost costing her her life. She was back at home, _safe_, lying with her head on his bed where she'd fallen asleep after spending so long just basking in the knowledge that he was alive- they were both alive.

He wanted to be back there with her, tucked under the million blankets she'd piled on the bed because it was freezing as fuck from the damn cold snap that made it feel like late September instead of June. He wanted to curl up and just breathe in the warmth that was Maka, the one who meant the absolute most to him. But he needed this.

Soul's head came up at a muffled sound, that had sounded like- but no. Maka was still back home, there was no way she'd take his motorcycle out in a downpour like this. He hadn't even taken it- though that was more so the noise wouldn't wake her up- and it hadn't been raining this hard when he'd left. He didn't even know how long he'd been gone, how long he'd stared at the dark stone that held his brother before the words had forced themselves from his lips. How many times that painful scene had replayed itself in his head.

"Holy fuck what was I thinking? Wes, I don't know if it was you watching over your stupid little brother again, or some kind of god or guardian angel or what, and I really don't care right now. Whatever it was, thank you." He sobbed, "Thank you for letting me move fast enough, for letting me keep her safe."

His face was numb from the cold, the sound of the rain coming down on the stone almost melodic. He'd been so stupid, so arrogant, and so, _so_ lucky. She was alive. Maka was alive. His breath left in a rush as it finally sank in.

"She's alive. Thank you. Thank you so much! She's alive!" his shoulders shook with the force of his laughter, his chest's aching ratcheting up to shooting pain at the jostling motion that made him wince. He put a hand to his chest and pressed back against the new wound, feeling his heart beat under his fingers. That felt significant. Not only was Maka safe, but he'd survived, too. They were both alive, both -more or less- okay. They were still together.

Soul tilted his head and frowned. No, he definitely heard something outside through the sound of the rain pouring hard. The white haired teen stumbled when he opened his soul a bit and felt the reassuring warmth and light and love that was his partner and Meister and everything else. Maka was here, outside in the pouring rain, for who knew how the fuck long, waiting for him. Her soul was wide open to him, and the stone and distance that separated them might as well not have been there as Soul got double-vision of the mausoleum around him and Maka standing perched against his bike in her long black coat, eyes unerringly trained on where he stood, her hair plastered to her head from the water coming down on her, her lips moving with the tune she was singing softly for him. The words echoed around him, through his soul: unhindered by distance, and the rain, far from muffling her voice, played harmony and kept time as she sang.

"Baby, come home. Baby, come home." She didn't raise a hand to wipe at the tears that mixed with the rain, didn't come inside to get out of the cold, because this was his sanctuary, and Maka would give him all the time and space from her that he needed, even if it hurt her to be apart, but she'd also make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

Soul didn't hesitate: there was no choice to be made, he left the cold, silent place of death and ran outside into the pouring and freezing rain, the world in shades of gray from the downpour and fog, panting and ignoring the searing pain across his chest. Maka didn't hesitate, either, throwing herself into his arms as soon as he emerged and Soul held her close with all the strength he could muster. She shook in his arms, partly from cold -just how goddamn long was she out here waiting for him while he was inside being a morose idiot?- and partly, he could feel with their souls wide open and touching, from the same trembling _relief_ of them both being alive and breathing and _together_.

Soul unzipped his jacket and pulled her inside, her arms snaking behind his back, chest-to-chest, where he could feel her heart beating against his. Where she was _safe_ in his arms and he could feel her just living with every beat of his heart. He buried his face in her soft hair and breathed in the scent that was comfort and healing and just- just Maka, uncaring about the wet.

He was cold, too; didn't have much in the way of warmth to share, but Maka didn't seem to care and Soul couldn't bring himself to. He didn't need heat, didn't need solitude, didn't even need Wes. He had all he needed right here, he had Maka.

Her lips moved against his chest through his shirt, her breath a whisper against his skin, "Baby, come home. Baby, come home."

Soul held her impossibly closer as the water sluiced around them, their bodies pressed too close together for it to come between them, letting all the painful relief and overflowing love he felt for her pour through their resonating souls, and whispered his only truth to the one who was his everything: "I _am _home."


End file.
